


Degrees of Comfort

by Eressë (eresse21)



Series: Greenleaf and Imladris [25]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Fourth Age, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-10 11:02:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eresse21/pseuds/Eress%C3%AB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s trite but true: One of the best things about lovers’ quarrels is the making up afterwards. Twenty-fifth story in a series chronicling the millennia spanning relationship of Legolas and Elrohir from the moment they meet beneath the eaves of Greenwood the Great to the years of the War of the Ring and beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offence is intended or profit made in my use of them._

Imladris, _lairë_ T.A. 40  
There was a definite chill in the air. At the height of one of the warmest summers in memory. At least, that was how Legolas felt at present. He tried to hide his scowl as he followed Elrohir with his eyes.

His mate was busy entertaining the newly elected Master of the Bree-land and his wife and children. In the years after the Great War, the Bree-folk had come to see the advantage of having one of their own officially speak for them in negotiations with other communities. They had thus followed the example of the men of Lake-town and just this past spring had got around to electing their first Master. Now the Man and his family had come to Imladris to introduce themselves and satisfy their curiosity about the hidden vale. 

Legolas sighed in frustration. Now it was the Bree Master. Before this, it had been a party of gregarious humans from the guild of merchants of Esgaroth seeking trading concessions from Gondor. And before that, an emissary from the Dwarves of the Ered Mithrin asking that their new but flourishing colony be recognized as a realm in its own right much like Erebor. And before _that_ , a group of Lindon Elves sent by Círdan to Rivendell to request something from King Elessar through the twins. 

The Elves had come to ask permission for the Firstborn to pass through the Shire in order to get to the Grey Havens. Ever since Aragorn decreed that no “Big People” were to trespass on the Hobbits’ land, the Elves coming from the east had had to take a roundabout route in order to reach Lindon. Círdan had asked that this prohibition be waived for the Elves at least.

The brethren readily granted this request. It had been an easy one to decide compared to the other concerns that had been brought to their attention since the fall of the preceding year. 

Just before autumn set in the year before, Aragorn had asked his foster-brothers to represent him in the north. In effect, he made them his de facto regents in the northern territories of his kingdom. The decision was made in the wake of a sudden and, this time, sincere attempt by Harad to forge a lasting peace with Gondor. Embroiled in the negotiations with the Southrons, Aragorn had found it next to impossible to journey north as was his wont and see to his other subjects’ needs. 

So he had delegated the task to his Elf-brothers, giving them carte blanche to make decisions on his behalf that would be as binding as if he had personally made them himself. As a result, Rivendell had come under virtual siege, with Men, Dwarves and Elves coming with their various requests, demands and problems to lay before the brethren. It seemed only the Hobbits had not made a nuisance of themselves, Legolas thought sourly.

He was not really set against the visitors by any means. He knew all too well what duty entailed. But one unfortunate consequence of the great influx of guests at Imladris was the steady decrease in Elrohir’s attention to him. Both brothers had been so busy, they had scarcely had the time or energy to devote to their respective spouses.

At least, Elladan had had the sense to recognize his neglect of his wife and young sons, Legolas thought, scowling anew. The older twin had announced he would take his family for a short holiday in Eryn Lasgalen and hied off for the woodland kingdom at the end of spring. Legolas had been glad for his sister and imagined his father’s pleasure at having little Elendir and Elros to fuss over. But unhappily for the archer, Elladan’s absence had left Elrohir in charge of everything for more than a month and therefore busier than ever. 

There definitely was a chill in the air.

Legolas watched as Elrohir and his guests headed for the gardens. The Bree Master and his family were basically kindly folk of simple tastes. But one could not fault them for being captivated by the fabled refuge. Even with Elrond long gone and the power of Vilya no longer in effect, Rivendell still retained the air of enchantment that so enthralled visitors, proving that it was its inhabitants and not any ring of power that had long lent the vale its mysterious allure. Was it any wonder that this latest group of guests should desire to explore its entirety even to its gardens and the orchards beyond? 

The Master’s younger daughter, however, seemed more interested in Rivendell’s younger twin lord than in Rivendell itself. Legolas’s eyes narrowed. 

The maid had grated on his nerves since her arrival. She'd been highly appreciative of the comeliness of all the Elves but when she clapped her eyes on Elrohir she turned patently covetous. Legolas was not surprised. The twins after all were in a league all their own; as fair as Elves yet with the earthy quality of Men that made them seem less aloof than pure-blooded _Edhil_. It was a potent combination. Few could resist their smoldering, sensual beauty. This maid did not even try.

Of course, neither Elrohir nor Legolas could reproach her. Few mortals knew of the matrimonial customs of Elves and even less of the wedding of male and male spirit. In this, Legolas owned that his sister had an advantage. There had been other females who sought to dally with Elladan but Nimeithel had preemptively claimed ownership of the older twin, thus nipping any carnal ambitions in the bud. 

Legolas had no such recourse. Not only would mortals not understand but there was also always the certainty that such news would get back to the south. That would upset the apple cart in more ways than one. No, he could not do as his sister had done. He was forced to depend on Elrohir to keep overly keen admirers at bay. 

Which, admittedly, Elrohir did. But he was diplomatic in his methods. Too diplomatic for Legolas’s liking. It irked him that the Elf-knight could be so brusque when he dealt with males but oh so gallant when it was the distaff side involved. Oh, he understood it was his mate’s way. That Elrohir would always show his gentle side to women no matter how annoyed he might be with them. As he was doing so now with his guest’s daughter. Besides, he could hardly chide the minx for something she knew nothing of.

Legolas was aware of this but it did not soothe him one whit. He could not accept the idea of anyone coquetting with his spouse even if it was done out of ignorance. And even less did he like the sight of Elrohir allowing such behavior around him no matter how trifling. He began to seethe as he noted the number of times the maiden placed her hand on the Elf-knight’s arm. Pawing him, Legolas thought irately.

He abruptly left the concealment of the shadowed porch whence he had been making his observations and approached the group. At once, the family eyed him with ill-concealed fascination. They instinctively sensed the difference between him and Elrohir though they did not know what constituted that difference.

Elrohir smiled as he neared them. “I was wondering where you had gone,” he said.

To his slight amusement, Legolas slipped between him and the maiden, in effect breaking her hold on his arm. “I was keeping an eye on things,” Legolas said cryptically.

Ever a master at reading between the lines, Elrohir raised an eyebrow in some surprise. But this was no place to ask his mate about his apparent pique and he turned his attention back to their guests. At this point, however, the humans’ inquisitiveness about the Wood-elves of Greenwood asserted itself and they began to question him eagerly about his realm. 

Legolas all but groaned. It seemed his aloofness with them had served to only heighten their curiosity about him and his people. Now he had to deal with their queries, like it or not. After what seemed like eternity, Lindir finally showed up to announce that the midday meal was ready. It was only then, as he was sighing with relief, that he and the others realized that Elrohir and the youngest daughter were nowhere in sight. He offered to look for them and requested the steward to usher the visitors to the dining hall. 

Frowning, he followed the tenuous connection that always flowed between him and Elrohir and soon spotted the two just a few yards away beneath the lone apple tree in the garden. The chit was endeavoring to climb it in order to pluck a luscious apple hanging just out of reach. Elrohir was remonstrating with her, offering to fetch it for her. 

Legolas gritted his teeth and began to walk toward them. At that moment, the girl slipped, prompting Elrohir to catch her. It was then that she crossed the line.

Before Legolas’s unbelieving eyes, she snaked her arms around Elrohir’s neck and pulled him close to kiss him. It was the briefest of kisses for Elrohir gently but firmly disengaged himself from her embrace. To Legolas, it was a woefully inadequate response. 

Elrohir saw him then, noting his blazing eyes. He prudently sent the maiden on her way then approached his obviously displeased mate. 

“Why did you wander off?” Legolas asked sharply.

The warrior was slightly taken aback. “She saw the tree and sought to climb it on her own. I only followed her to keep her from harm.” 

“Which she doubtless counted on,” the archer snipped. 

“She is very young and quite ignorant of proper decorum, Legolas,” Elrohir said. “She meant no harm.”

“Indeed,” the prince snapped icily. “But she certainly knows the benefits of an “accidental” fall into your arms!”

“I will not deny her guileful machinations,” Elrohir replied, a smile tugging at his lips at this display of his mate’s jealousy. 

“And you are no ignorant youth to have let her proceed so far,” Legolas added sarcastically.

“You can hardly expect me to have anticipated her actions,” Elrohir protested mildly. “Besides, what would you have had me do? Be uncivil with her?”

“Had it been her brother who had approached you thus, you would have had no compunctions about that!” At Elrohir’s startled expression, he pressed on. “She has been flirting outrageously with you since their arrival. And you have said and done nothing to dissuade her. Being young and ignorant, as you put it, she obviously took that as encouragement!”

“I neither dissuaded nor persuaded her in either direction,” Elrohir objected. 

“I wish I could believe that.”

Elrohir stared at him. This was far more than mere jealousy. 

“What is wrong, Legolas? You know I care not for the attentions of others.”

“Yet you were so taken with hers that you have not even remembered—” The archer broke off and pursed his lips angrily.

“Remembered what?”

“Nothing.”

Elrohir studied his sullen spouse. “Calenlass, her blandishments are nothing more than banter to me,” he said. “Surely you know that.”

“Nothing more, Elrohir?” The archer sounded hurt now. “This from the one who taught me that bound Elves do not engage in such dealings.”

He turned away and hurried off, snatching his hand out of Elrohir’s grasp when his mate sought to stay him. The warrior blew his breath out, more disturbed by the archer’s sudden anger than he cared to admit.

Legolas stayed away from him for the rest of the day, concealing himself so well no one could tell Elrohir where he had gone. Not even when Elladan and Nimeithel arrived unexpectedly that afternoon did he emerge from wherever he had secluded himself. It was only when the dinner bell sounded that evening that he finally showed himself, joining them quietly as they made their way to the dining hall. But to everyone’s surprise, he avoided Elrohir and stayed by Nimeithel’s side after welcoming her and Elladan. The older twin looked questioningly at his brother but Elrohir only shook his head. He needed to talk to Legolas first.

There was a collective gasp when they entered the dining hall. It was ablaze with the light of twice the number of candles that were normally used. Festive garlands of greenery and blossoms adorned the windows giving the hall a woodland look. Last but certainly not least, a sumptuous repast had been laid out by Iörwen and her staff. A repast that featured all of Legolas’s favorite dishes. 

For a moment, the archer stared about in shock and then he whipped his head around to look at Elrohir. But the burgeoning elation in his eyes swiftly faded when he noted the equal surprise in his mate’s expression. An instant later, Nimeithel swept him into an affectionate hug. 

“You did not think I had forgotten your begetting day, did you?” she murmured.

Elrohir felt his heart drop to the pit of his belly. Valar! He had completely forgotten the significance of the day. He stared guiltily at Legolas. His guilt increased when the prince looked at him over Nimeithel’s shoulder with disappointment, then lowered his eyes lest others see the hurt in them. He managed effusive thanks and a smile for his sister and let her lead him to the place of honor. 

It was a ghastly feast for the two of them, both feigning merriment while struggling to hide what they truly felt. Elladan and Nimeithel discerned their unease but neither could open the subject before the guests. Near the end of dinner, the strain became too much for Legolas and, taking his leave early, he rose and left the hall. Elrohir’s first impulse was to follow him but the Master’s wife chose the moment to engage him in conversation. Thankfully, Elladan noticed his predicament and adroitly rescued him.

He raced to their chamber, hoping Legolas had not decided to hide himself once more. He opened the door and halted on the threshold. The archer lay on their bed on his side, hugging a pillow like a youngling. Remorse struck Elrohir hard.

He slipped onto the bed behind Legolas and snaked an arm around his mate. Legolas did not respond but simply buried his face in the pillow. That made Elrohir feel worse. For his proud warrior prince to behave thusly evinced his deep hurt. 

“I am sorry, Calenlass,” he whispered. “I should not have forgotten this day’s import. Forgive me.”

He heard a doleful sigh. “‘Tis not only this day you have forgotten,” the archer said, voice muffled by the pillow.

Elrohir bit his lip. True. He had been so engrossed in his duties he had spent little or no time with Legolas this past month. Not even in their bed, he belatedly realized with perturbation. 

Even at night, when they lay together, alone at last, he had been either so tired or his mind still engaged in whatever concern had been brought to his notice that they had not indulged in more than the most cursory of couplings. Instigated more oft than not by Legolas. 

“Oh, _melethron_ , forgive me,” he implored, pulling Legolas tightly against him and dropping soft caresses on the side of his neck. “I never meant to hurt you.”

After a tension-fraught moment, Legolas turned over to face him. His eyes glittered in the dim light. “I know,” he said in a hushed voice and pressed his lips against Elrohir’s.

The Elf-knight answered his kiss and more besides.

oOoOoOo

Legolas’s spirits did not lift significantly the following day much to Elrohir’s worry. While some of his sense of abandonment had been assuaged by their loving of the night before, it did not completely abate. Elrohir watched ruefully from the stable yard as his mate took off for a day of riding. To try and forget, the twin knew all too painfully.

Theirs was one of the most passionate relationships in Elfdom. It was in the joining of their bodies that they best expressed their abiding love for each other. For Elrohir to have seemingly lost his desire for intimacy with his spouse had been a blow to Legolas. It had given the archer reason to fear that perhaps more than just desire had vanished. 

Although eight years had passed since the near unraveling of their relationship, Legolas still bore the scars of his unwitting folly. He had never quite forgotten the scornful words of their erstwhile enemy, impugning his suitability as Elrohir’s mate. His subsequent discovery of the ignorance that had almost damaged his bond with the Elf-knight beyond repair had further convinced him of the truth of those words. Over the years, heartened by Elrohir’s love, he had slowly let go of his insecurity in this matter. But it would take more time to completely eradicate it. 

“May I know what has come between you two?”

He turned to face his curious twin. “I was inconsiderate,” he replied. “I even forgot that yesterday was his begetting day. 

Elladan looked at him in some surprise. “Only that?” he prodded. “I did not think Legolas would take umbrage at an occasional lapse of memory.”

Elrohir shook his head. “‘Twas only the last straw.” 

The older twin regarded him thoughtfully then slung an arm over his shoulders and said: “Come, _muindor_ , tell me the whole of it.”

And so Elrohir did as they walked back to the house, not bothering to sugarcoat his failings. Elladan stared at him in some wonderment afterwards.

“I confess I cannot believe you allowed things to go that far,” he said. 

Elrohir nodded. “I am appalled at myself as well,” he admitted. 

“It would seem that in fulfilling your duties as diplomat and king’s counsellor, you forgot that you are also a spouse and lover,” Elladan observed.

“I will make no excuses for my error in this,” Elrohir said. “Legolas did his best to be supportive and asked only for what was his due. But I failed to give him even that. My concern now is how to make amends to him. It grieves me that I hurt him.” He let out a regretful sigh. “I can think of no gift that could possibly make up for my shortcomings.”

Elladan looked at him intently for a few minutes. At length, he said, “No gift can make up for that indeed,” he conceded. “Save yourself.” At his brother’s bemused reaction, he pointed out: “You are his incomparable Elf-knight. He has oft said so himself. Prove it!”

Elrohir stared at him nonplussed for a moment. And then he smiled. “I hope I can think of something... sufficient.”

“I am certain your creativity is more than equal to the task at hand,” Elladan grinned.

******************************  
Glossary:  
lairë - Quenya for summer  
melethron – male lover  
muindor – brother 

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

Some six days later, Legolas awoke to find himself alone in bed. Disconcerted at first, he then remembered it was the day the delegation from Dale was scheduled to arrive. It was obvious Elrohir was already up and about, preparing for their advent.

He sighed and rose from the bed. He could not fault his spouse for his devotion to his duties. It came with the territory if you were brother to Gondor’s king. And anyway, he comforted himself, Elrohir had been attentive this past week if a little distracted at times by his various responsibilities. Until Aragorn released the twins from this particular service, he could expect things to continue as they were. 

He walked to the bathing chamber and entered it. And stopped and stared. 

The bathing tub was filled with steaming water. And it was fragrant with herbs and spices, this particular combination one of Legolas’s favorites because of its soothing effects. Upon the marble bench by the tub, neatly folded, were a fresh towel and bathing-robe.

Elrohir obviously knew him very well indeed for him to have predicted when he would awaken and prepare this luxurious bath before he did. A lovely sense of belonging suffused the archer’s being as he slipped into the water. He found himself humming a cheerful tune as he bathed.

He came out of the chamber and again stopped and stared in wonder. 

The balcony doors had been thrown open and there on the small table where he and Elrohir occasionally breakfasted was a veritable feast of hot rolls nestled in a small basket, a platter of succulent ham and sharp cheese, small pots of sweet butter and golden honey, a bowl of juicy peaches and a pitcher of heady mead. 

And there on the bed, a shirt and a pair of long breeches had been laid out along with a pair of his light shoes on the floor just below. 

Feeling ever more loved, Legolas dressed swiftly then sat down to the mouthwatering meal. He wondered with some regret why Elrohir had chosen not to share it with him. He had just plucked a roll from the basket when he saw the sheet of parchment tucked into one side. It was a message instructing him to go to the summerhouse at the edge of the gardens. Legolas suddenly found his appetite healthier than usual this morning. 

He had to keep himself from racing to the summerhouse afterwards. Reluctant to betray his eagerness to anyone, he forced himself to walk at a measured pace to his rendezvous. Yet by the time he reached it, his heart was beating as briskly as if he had sprinted across the whole of Middle-earth. Taking a deep, calming breath, he entered the delicately wrought structure.

He had not visited the summerhouse since before Celebrían left for the West. It had been Elrond’s gift to her after she gave birth to their twins. But in the wake of her departure, her family had seldom used it. Certainly, Elrond had never entered it again, pained as he was by how the memories it evoked reminded him of his loss. Someone, however, had visited it very recently. And altered its interior. 

What had once been a feminine retreat was now a notably masculine haven. Gone were the white lounging chair and its dainty pastel colored cushions. That had been replaced with a wide and cozy divan graced by two oversized pillows. In place of the floral-patterned curtains were gauzy beige draperies. And a thick deep green rug now occupied the center of the main room where once there had been several thin mats in varying shades of pink and yellow. The only thing that had not been changed was the table by the largest window. A table that bore a thin stack of large sheets of artist’s parchment. 

Curious, Legolas went to the table and picked up the pile. His eyes softened as he looked upon the topmost sheet. It bore a detailed sketch portraying him and Elrohir at the dinner table, his own eyes oddly cast down while the Elf-knight appeared to be paying attention to something else. The following illustration was just as wonderfully rendered and also unusual as it showed them riding astride the same horse, with Elrohir behind him. 

The third drawing was a shade more intimate. It recalled to him the time when Elrohir had given him a relaxing massage while they were in the baths the evening they’d arrived from Mirkwood soon after his mother’s passing. Legolas found himself wondering what might have happened then had he and Elrohir been lovers at the time. 

Smiling, he went on to the next illustration. And gasped in shock. Color stained his cheeks and his hands trembled. There, in graphic detail, was he in naught but his open shirt, half sprawled on a couch, one thigh draped over the armrest. And between his legs, bent over his groin was Elrohir using his mouth and hand to... Legolas drew in a ragged breath. Elbereth! What had got into Elrohir to commit such an image to paper? 

Now quaking, from what emotion he was not sure he wished to know, he peeked at the next sketch. And nearly dropped the whole pile. By the Valar, it was even more wicked! 

The remaining sketches were seen through a haze, each as lubricious or even more so than its predecessor. He dropped the stack on the table as if it scalded his hands. One sheet fell to the floor and he retrieved it. It was the picture depicting him with Elrohir down between... He swallowed hard and made to return the parchment to the pile. But for some reason, he could not take his eyes off it. Cheeks now scarlet, he stared at it as if mesmerized.

“And is that the service you desire of me, Calenlass?”

Legolas whirled around almost guiltily. He gaped at his first sight of Elrohir. The warrior was shirtless and barefooted and his form-fitting long breeches left little to the imagination. And he had bound his hair into a single thick plait, a style that pointed up the impressive breadth of his Half-elven shoulders and chest.

“Service?” Legolas repeated, his voice close to a squeak.

“Aye, _melethron_ ”—lover—the Elf-knight replied with a dangerous smile as he came up to his discomfited mate. “As atonement for my egregious forgetfulness of your begetting day. As penance for my unconscionable neglect of your needs these past many months.”

“But I— what do you mean—?” The archer found himself backing away before the warrior’s steady charge. “What of the delegates from Dale? You—”

“Elladan will take care of welcoming them,” Elrohir drawled. “‘Tis time I took care of you, my prince."

Something about the way Elrohir spoke and regarded him made Legolas back away even more. He had not seen Elrohir this predatory since he seduced the archer in his own bedchamber in Ithilien. Before he knew it, he had retreated all the way to the divan. Its edge caught the back of his knees and he fell, half-sprawled, upon the plump pillows. 

Before he could speak or move, Elrohir bent over and kissed him so thoroughly, he almost forgot to breath. Deft fingers undid his shirt and unlaced his breeches while he was kept too occupied to protest. And then the twin was kissing his way down his exposed torso even as he hauled down Legolas’s trousers and yanked off his shoes in one fluid motion. 

Legolas nearly howled his pleasure when Elrohir proceeded to make true the image he had sketched. Hips bucking wildly into that all too talented mouth, he clawed at the pillows, desperate for something to anchor him to reality. And then, just when he thought he could take no more, he felt his leg lifted to rest upon one of the armrests. Elrohir thus completed the picture by sliding his fingers repeatedly into him, stroking him from within. It was too much. With a helpless keen, Legolas came all undone. 

Spent, he lay back panting, wondering if he would find his way back to sentience again. He was vaguely aware of Elrohir rising to his feet; faintly heard the rustle of paper. And then Elrohir was beside him, gathering his still unwound body into his arms. They remained thus in comfortable silence until Legolas regained some of his composure. 

He caught his breath when Elrohir softly sang an ancient Noldorin love song to him in the High Speech. The use of Quenya in any declaration of love or lust between them always brought Legolas back to the time when Elrohir had first confessed his desire for him. It never failed to evoke the same feeling of awe he’d experienced then that the Elf-knight should have so deep and abiding a regard for him. He snuggled happily against his spouse thinking nothing could be more perfect than this moment. 

When the song was done, Elrohir treated him to a loving spate of kisses. Legolas felt something placed on his lap. He glanced down and found the sheaf of illustrations resting on his thighs. 

“This is my offering to you, Legolas,” the Elf-knight crooned. “Twelve ways in as many days by which to bring you naught but pleasure.” He indicated the top drawing, which he had just performed most shatteringly on his mate. “This is but the first of them. Select if you will the service that would be of comfort to you for each of the remaining days.”

Legolas blinked then stared at him. “What? You want me to-to choose from—?” His eyes fell upon the sheets. Color flooded his face again. “I do not think I can—”

“For my sake, _melethen_ ”—my love—Elrohir murmured, pausing to run the tip of his tongue along the sensitive ridge of Legolas’s ear, making the prince shiver. “Would you deny me this chance to make amends to you?”

Legolas’s mouth went dry. The very thought of arranging for his own daily pleasuring was rattling to say the least. Hands shaking once more, he took up the sheets. He hurried through the more risqué sketches, conscious of Elrohir’s knowing gaze. Suddenly bashful, he started with what he considered the most innocent of the lot. The sketch of him having dinner with the twin followed by the ride upon a shared steed. The others he hastily arranged without much thought, so discomposed was he by such graphic imagery. He returned the sheets to Elrohir. 

“As you desire,” the twin whispered. He set aside the stack then, to Legolas’s befuddlement, slid down once more between his legs.

“You are not— you are not going to— again—?” the prince stammered, eyes wide with disbelief.

A rakish smile caused his insides to flip-flop. “I said I would perform the service you desired of me,” Elrohir grinned. “I did not say I would do it only once.” 

In later years, Legolas would oft wonder how his lucidity managed to survive those twelve days of Elrohir’s self-appointed penance.

As it was, that seemingly innocuous dinner turned out to be far from innocent. During the meal, with the Dale delegates sitting just across from them, Elrohir audaciously reached for his thigh and, under cover of the table and, to Legolas’s shock, clutched his way to his groin, loosened his breech-laces and slipped his hand in to fondle him to imminent explosion. All these while Legolas had to guard his expression lest the merest sign of his impending release mark his oddly frozen countenance. 

Near to erupting, unable to endure such unexpressed rapture any longer, Legolas hastily swatted his mischievous spouse’s hand away, laced up his breeches just enough to keep them up and on him and lurched to his feet. Making some ridiculous excuse to the surprised diners of which he had no memory whatsoever, he hurried out of the dining hall, oblivious of any pursuer. He had hardly gained the privacy of their bedchamber when he was summarily spun around by Elrohir, thrust against the wall and his breeches hauled down brusquely. Whereupon Elrohir swiftly and spectacularly finished him off. 

After that he discovered that there were no limits as to where, when or how Elrohir could pleasure him. He learned among other things that, so long as they shared one horse, he could be stroked to completion by the end of a morning’s ride. That the hayloft above the stables, the elegant armchair in the Hall of Fire, a bathful of steaming water, a level boulder by the Bruinen, any surgical table in the healing chambers and even a sturdy wall were as suitable for coupling as any bed. 

He found out that letting Elrohir read to him a bedtime story of the twin’s choosing was hazardous to one’s peace of mind and groin unless it was followed up by a good and rousing tumble. And that there were occasions where being taken entailed taking the more active role particularly if one was called upon to do the riding. 

The twelfth day dawned upon a thoroughly flustered woodland prince. Only one “service” remained to be performed by his mate. But for the life of him, he could not recall what it was. 

However, he began to calm down as the day passed quietly. Elrohir spent most of it closeted with Elladan and Lindir and a messenger newly arrived from Gondor. Aragorn was nearly done in his preliminary negotiations with the Haradrim. He was now requesting that the twins come south soon and help him hammer out the finer points of the treaty. The request indicated that the brethren would soon be freed of their obligations as Aragorn’s regents in the north.

He and Nimeithel cheerfully agreed that that was good news indeed if it meant their respective spouses would finally be able to return to their normal and, therefore, less hectic schedules and duties. In the meantime, he whiled away his leisure hours playing with his small nephews, amazed as always at their startling likeness. He wondered along with his sister what it must have been like for Elrond and Celebrían during their mates’ infancies. 

When evening fell and dinner was served and still Elrohir had done nothing out of the ordinary, Legolas began to think that perhaps the twin had forgotten about his avowed comforting for the last day. And when they all gathered in the Hall of Fire for an evening of song and poetry, he came to believe there would be no special activity this night. He did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed. 

It was then that the mild sleeping draught Elrohir had slipped into his wine during dinner took effect. Needless to say, he did not make it to their bedroom on his own two feet. 

He awoke to find himself bare as a newborn upon their bed and Elrohir looking down at him with fearsome edaciousness. He started to sit up only to find, to his alarm, that his wrists had been bound together above his head to the headboard with a soft but strong cord. And he had been gently but efficiently gagged with one of Nimeithel’s silken kerchiefs. In a flash, he remembered what the last sketch had depicted and his own quavering reaction upon seeing it. Molten sensation surged through him at that recollection.

He stared at his spouse with apprehensive eyes. Elrohir grinned wickedly at him.

“You once told me you cherished every intimate encounter we ever shared before our binding,” he said huskily. “Even that one incident when I nearly took you by force.” He ran his hand suggestively down one trembling thigh. “I have since wondered what it would be like to ravish you, my golden prince. Shall we find out together?”

Legolas later admitted to the wisdom of his mate’s precautionary measures. It was fortunate that Elrohir gagged him else he would have screamed the house down from the sheer ferocity of his several culminations. Prudent of him to bind him else he would have thrashed himself into injury. 

Lying helpless while Elrohir did as he pleased with him perversely heightened every single sensation. And as if things needed to be spiced up further, Elrohir took him in whatever position struck his fancy, pounding into him with unprecedented force, which only served to drive Legolas near insane with bliss. Only when he was reduced to moaning sobs and tears from the almost excruciating pleasure streamed down his cheeks did his Elf-knight remove the gag and cut the cord. He clung tightly to Elrohir, crying out his release, as he was taken deep and hard one last time.

Afterwards, as he lay trembling in the warrior’s balming arms, he wondered how he had survived such voracious comforting. Elbereth! If this was his spouse’s way of atoning for his failings, he might very well be the first Elf in Arda to enter the Halls of Awaiting by way of too much loving!

He felt Elrohir’s lips against his temple. He glanced up fuzzily. The twin’s eyes were dancing with mingled affection and mischief.

“I trust my debt to you is paid, _melethron_?” he said with a smile.

Legolas had to laugh albeit weakly. “Overpaid is closer to the mark, Aduial,” he chuckled faintly. “Ah, the Valar spare me from any more acts of penance. At least, by you!” 

Elrohir snickered. “But I so enjoyed making amends to you, my Greenleaf. Indeed, I am looking forward to committing more transgressions against you if by doing so, I may have the pleasure of making up to you for my sins afterwards.”

Legolas stared at him, so obviously torn between horror and delight, that Elrohir dissolved into a bout of shoulder-shaking mirth that only ended when the archer pouted in embarrassment and punched him hard. The warrior wasted no time making up for this latest offense either. 

It was nigh three days before Legolas was deemed fit to go riding again.

_End of Part XXV._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Part XXVI: Table Manners – Just before yet another formal dinner, Elrohir decides he and Legolas have attended one banquet too many._


End file.
